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Triumph Pt. 2.
por
The Cool Kids
Featuring(s) : Don Cannon & Pac Div
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[Intro: Don Cannon] Yeah So um, I know you ain’t heard this voice in a minute But before shit got weird, we ran that check up And then when I see shit is still weird We came back to run that check up So the reunion was necessary The notorious co-signing Don Cannon Cool Kids, Pac Div, nigga [Chorus: Sir Michael Rocks] If you ain’t team, gang, squad, I ain’t tattin’ ya All tatted niggas better get they baggy up Ring, ring, wake up for the postman And crack the back door for the ghost man [Verse 1: Sir Michael Rocks] Mariani lingo, eggplant parmesan Persian rug and cat, I’m good on all the hand daps I don’t like when niggas call me big bro and they got kids I don’t even got kids, miss me with that weird shit Thе stocks getting boxed in, my crypto in the top tеn My accountant told me what’s the play and then I hopped in I just put a hundred in your GoFundMe budget I just did it just to spite you, I love it The drama, the conflict, the calls to your cousin You tried to sick ‘em on me but they told you you was bugging Real stupid, goofy, smart guy A bunch of groupies in your archive Old bald niggas get designered down Get a Corvette drop and then ride around I seen this game take niggas with dreams Get a buzz, move to LA, and turn to a fiend Probably wish that you could turn to a team but you ain’t got one Not one, all you got is ghostriding shotgun Cap got traded in, the crib get gated in (gated in) It’s a beautiful thing, ain’t it, man [Chorus: Sir Michael Rocks] If you ain’t team, gang, squad, I ain’t tattin’ ya All tatted niggas better get they baggy up Ring, ring, wake up for the postman And crack the back door for the ghost man [Verse 2: Chuck Inglish] Aye Leather sandals, [?], [?] on the mantle Fireplace like a candle, if you straight me, I’ll slant you The best rapper that you seen make beats The real tea is I’m kinda next to Jay Dee Can’t play me, we can never trade seats [?] on the leather alligator under my sneaks Either that or I’ma fry it You smoke that muhfucka, taste just like unagi Over fire the bulgogi Brick chopper in my hands, yea man I know karate I could pick apart a ripple in the water, make it stop Put my wrist back in it, whipping tides in and out [Chorus: Sir Michael Rocks] If you ain’t team, gang, squad, I ain’t tattin’ ya All tatted niggas better get they baggy up Ring, ring, wake up for the postman And crack the back door for the ghost man [Verse 3: Mibbs] Excuse me Nothing under the Stussy bucket but buckets (swish) Seven hundred for Gucci sneakers, fuck it (I did it) Nothing else on my mind, I’m minding these duckets If you don’t push a hard line then you’s a buster I do you justice, blue bucks in my clutches Get walked down by the homie who walk with crutches Burberry swim trunks for the summertime I play better when everything is on the line Just head east on Adams for me one time Nice whip, is that a lease or you tryna buy? You wanna deal with police or you tryna slide? Nowadays, a sneak diss mean you tryna die [Verse 4: Like] See you, at Home Depot in JNCO jeans The sales clerk mistake you for Cee-Lo Green I’m in the line behind you buying mouse traps Place ‘em around the studio to get my style back I brought the Don Julio and the loud pack I’m so washed, nigga, throw me on the towel rack You think you can out-rap... Five hungry niggas in the waiting line at Outback? I doubt that, talk sideways and get ya mouth cracked Ya shit swelling up like ya gout back This that real nigga soundtrack Made for those who count wax and drink brown ‘gnac [Verse 5: BeYoung] Ayo Space Jam 11s for the lunar new year in tune To the moons, I truly do hear Too many coonin’ for views, I refuse to compare Placing bids off the grid ‘til the true reappear Secluded [?] as Kyrie, mastering the Tai Chi So golden with it, woulda went plat’ in 9-3 Whole culture shifted for the bag, who’s the top leech No Uber, Lyft, fuck a cab, sack they ride free Huh, could probably [?] Saks Fifth Ave The starting five hit game winners when the stats get bad Bet I keep a Plan B for my A game This ain’t designed for the live soldiers to maintain, the game’s lame [Chorus: Sir Michael Rocks] If you ain’t team, gang, squad, I ain’t tattin’ ya All tatted niggas better get they baggy up Ring, ring, wake up for the postman And crack the back door for the ghost man [Outro: Don Cannon] Notorious You could say we back, but that’d be an understatement Hand me my 45 jersey
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